And therefore fallible
by jiokra
Summary: "He remembered as a young boy, he wished he had acquired his mother's tolerance for lower temperatures. But when faced with the reality, witnessing Kirk's steady demise alongside his, he realized that neither Vulcan nor human succeeded in such dire weather." Transport bay down. Communication lost. Kirk and Spock only have each other.


"Jim... Jim...?"

Throat parched and dry, his voice got lost in the flurries of snow, a blinding white canopy of an endless blizzard ravaging not only the continent Kirk and he inhabited, but the entire planet. He remembered as a young boy, he wished he had acquired his mother's tolerance for lower temperature. _Illogical_ , his mind had told him, for Vulcan experienced a luxuriously warm climate, and his physiology demanded nothing else. But when faced with the reality of the cold, witnessing Kirk's steady demise alongside his, he realized that neither Vulcan nor human succeeded in such dire weather.

He watched the snowflakes swirl and settle over the boot prints giving way to dragged legs. Jim had detangled from their temporary, though potentially permanent, oasis of shared clothing and close proximity to venture out into the storm. For what purpose, Spock didn't know, as Jim hadn't told him, and he didn't know how to ask as it'd long grown too difficult to speak anything more complex than a few meager, broken words at a time.

Then came the dry heave. The redundant noise of Jim gagging as he then expelled the remains of whatever could still possibly lie in his stomach. Digestive aids. Perhaps the melted snow they'd last drunk. He vomited for no more than a few seconds. To Spock, it lasted lifetime.

Eyes closed, he was assaulted with an image of his father staring at him with a stern, knowing look.

In response Spock shifted, feeling through his garments and the layers of clothes arrayed over him like blankets, and didn't stop until he found the canister filled with the last of their water from the Enterprise. He brought it close to his chest, and though he knew it were illogical to offer it to Kirk—the Enterprise couldn't pick up their signals no matter how hard they tried, and Kirk's constant vomiting hinted at nothing positive—it made Spock feel good to replenish Kirk before he died of dehydration alongside the hypothermia. He could calculate the odds, but when faced with the impending eventuality, he didn't, couldn't, however illogical his father would deem that to be. His mother's human heart guided him as his Vulcan physiology failed him.

Snow crunched and crackled, and Spock didn't bother looking. He didn't want to see Kirk's sunken cheeks, sallow skin accented by the deep, purple splotches beneath his eyes, the blue of his lips. Besides, a warmth buzzed over him the longer he gazed into the darkness; the warmest he'd ever felt since they were marooned and beyond hope on this desolate planet.

Kirk slapped him across the cheek, and Spock snapped to attention.

"I order you not to die," said Kirk, a dull ferocity in his voice.

Spock's gaze slid from the grey cavern walls to him. At him. The lifeform that loomed over him could not be Jim; he refused to accept that from the frail man before him.

Kirk seized his shoulders and shook him. "I said, that's an order, Mr. Spock!"

Kirk tucked a hand beneath the layers of clothing, prepping to get behind Spock and wrap him in his mildly warmer—no, _less cold_ —body. Spock groaned, and he meant to catch Kirk's attention but that only urged Kirk into working faster to get back under the clothes. Spock pushed the water canister up to his chin, the cap poking out from the edges of the clothes. " _Jim_ ," he said, and his abrupt, clipped speech caught Kirk's attention.

Kirk glanced at the canister, frowning. "I'm fine, Mr. Spock."

Anguish swept through him. Keeping Kirk hydrated was the only duty as First Officer left that he could fulfill with confidence. "Jim," he said, " _please_."

Kirk scowled, and slid the canister from his grasp, though his countenance lent Spock the impression that he'd rather snatch it from him. "Well, all right," said Kirk. "Since you asked so nicely."

He tore off the cap and tossed his head back, his Adam's apple jumping as he drained the last of the water. He tossed it to the snow and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his golden uniform. "Satisfied, Mr. Spock?"

Spock's raised eyebrow quivered but held. "Yes, Captain."

Kirk huffed, his breath freezing into a cloud before his face.

With nothing else preventing Kirk from settling back into their cocoon of warmth in the middle of a desert tundra, Kirk moved Spock's weary, malleable limbs and situated himself once again behind him, drawing him close to his chest and tangling their legs together, snatching Spock's hand and crossing both their arms over his chest.

Spock wondered how the other Vulcans would interpret the report: Wrapped in the arms of his Captain and his friend. Before acknowledging his death in the line of duty, Spock imagined they'd stare long and hard at the notion of friendship with a human before realizing it made perfect sense, as Spock was not truly Vulcan and therefore fallible.

"I had this dream the other night," said Kirk, and Spock directed the half of his mind left to listening. "I don't know what it is about this place, but it reminded me of it all of a sudden. I'm ten years old, or about that age, and despite this being a dream, I'm hungry. My intestines are roaring as they fight to communicate with me. 'Your stomach's empty, but it's still managing to pass us things. And it's nothing. Nothing. It's passing us nothing.' And all I can think is: Shut up. Don't you get it? Shut up or they'll find us." Kirk sucked in a breath. "I'd forgotten about it. I spent awhile wishing someone could save me, like those princes and gallant knights of the thousand year old fables. But no one ever came."

Spock's head lulled back, cheek grazing Kirk's chest. Outside the cave mouth, he could see only a few paces before the world beyond was swallowed up in a blizzard.

"Whenever we're venturing into uncharted territory and find someone—someone in danger, or in distress—I don't remember that time, but the feeling." Kirk squeezed his hand. "Mr. Spock, are you with me?"

Spock inhaled, sharp enough he cleared his nose. "Yes."

"Good."

Kirk held him tighter.

Two artificial beeps cut through the silence. "Enterprise to Kirk, this is Uhura speaking. Do you read me?"

Kirk tensed, then he ripped a hand away from Spock. Cold air licked at the back of his neck.

Kirk tore out of the cocoon of warmth, and through eyelids open a crack, Spock spotted him swiping the water canister. The Prime Directive. Spock's stomach burned with warmth he didn't know was still in him.

" _Uhura?_ Beam us of here!"

And his atoms energizing were the last Spock heard before he succumbed to the weariness draining his body.


End file.
